She's Got You In a High
by we'reonfire
Summary: Peeta can't deny it, because he'd be lying is he was. She's always got him feeling high. A collection of AU one-shots; Peeta-centric.
1. She's Got You In a High

A/N: this is a collection of one-shots from Peeta's POV.

I published this on Wattpad, and I HATE wattpad. I got four reads, and no reviews. I prefer FF much better. I knew I would get a better response here.

disclaimer: I hate these. I don't.

* * *

_Peeta can't deny it. She's always got him in a high._

* * *

I stare down at my shoes, tattered, worn, and used. They look almost lonely without hers right beside mine. We would walk to class together everyday, chatting and laughing as we go. I miss her laugh.  
Gale is sick today, a case of the flu is going around. At sixteen, I would expect his immune system to be strong. He says he got it from his little brother. (I just think he got it from kissing that girl, Evelyn Cartwright, Delly's older sister.) Primrose is untouched by the flu, walking with little Rue Fields from class 11. I can't say the same for Katniss. She's home sick with the flu. I make a mental note to visit her as soon as school ends for the day.

It's a long day. It feels like it's been a thousand years, and I'm still sitting in Socials class, talking about ancient Rome. Even though I know I won't ever use this knowledge, I listen. Katniss usually sits beside me, but her seat is empty. I can almost hear her scoff's over the loud ticking of the clock and-

"Mr. Mellark!" a loud voice jolts me from my thoughts. I look up to see the frowning face of Ms. Trinket. I blush furiously and sit up straight.  
"I'm sorry, Ms. Trinket, I was just thinking." I say honestly. Ms. Trinket's heavily make-upped face brightens and she tries to suppress a smirk. I furrow my eyebrows. What has gotten into her these past few days? I mean, it's like every time I look at her, she's smirking at me.

_Well, she is a freak in general._

"Thinking of Katniss?" she asks, her eyebrows raised is amusement. I feel my blush, and snickers erupt from the class.  
"No.." I say, blinking at her. Her smile grows impossibly wider.  
"See, you blinked at me!" she exclaims, her voice triumphant. So, I blinked at her. What is that supposed mean?  
"You always blink when you lie!" she exclaims, clapping her hands together in a dainty manner. I feel the laughs and the 'oooooh's' coming from the older boys in class 12. I shrug.  
"I was just thinking how she had the flu.." I mumble, loud enough for the class to hear. Ms. Trinket sighs dramatically, and bounces away, raving about 'young love' on the way back to her desk. I roll I try to get back to the assignment, but nudges and snickers from older boys prevent me from doing so. "Don't worry, Mellark," says Ansel, a friend of Gale's. "your woman is gonna get better!" he exclaims loudly. I sigh, and turn to face him.  
"She's not my woman!" I say, unfortunately too loud. I hear Ms. Trinket sigh again, but I brush her off. For the rest of the day I get whistles and whoops from Gale's friends.

"Skipping to see Katniss!?"  
"Oooh, a 2nd year skipping to see his girl!"  
"Use protection!"

I blush at the last one.

They are right, I am skipping my Science class to check on Katniss. She's home alone, and she said over the phone that she felt dizzy. I think I might just skip the rest of the day, I mean it's only two classes I'm missing. I walk down the dirt road, kicking a rock as I go. On the way to Katniss' house I see a blond boy and dark-haired girl playing tag.  
"Hey! No fair, I tagged you!"  
"No! Hair doesn't count!" I smile at their care-free laughs. They remind me of Katniss and me. Speaking of Katniss... I get to her door, crouching down to dig up the spare key. I brush away some dirt, revealing a dull gray key. I place the key into the groove and turn. The door creaks open, and I step inside, taking off my shoes and closing the door.  
"Katniss?" I hear nothing. I run up the stairs, taking two at a time, and go down the hallway to her room. Even before I turn the knob I hear her loud coughs. "Katniss?" I open the door, and there she is. Well, there's her toes. "Katniss?" I repeat, approaching her cautiously. A cough is what I get in return. I lift the blankets from where her face should be and I am met with a pair of dull gray eyes. "Kat! You look awful!" And it's true, she's as pale as a sheet and her eyes are dull. (beautiful all the same, but she's looked better.)  
"Hey Peeta." she says weakly. My shoulders sag at her feeble reply. I've never seen her this sick.  
"Okay, I'm gonna make us some soup, okay?" I say, keeping her door open, just in case. A feeble "okay" is her reply and I wince at how weak it sounds. I fly down the stairs, and start up a kettle. I can't make broth, but I can sure as hell boil some instant noodles. As soon as it's done I pour the noodles and broth into two bowls and balance them on my hands as I go upstairs.

I feed her the broth, slurping some of my own as I go. When we finish, I strip her of the blankets. "Peeta?" she asks.

"What are you doing?"  
"I'm going to warm you up, because you're wearing a winter coat, and you have three blankets, and you're complaining that you're cold."  
"Peeta, you're going to get sick."  
"Katniss, can you please. Just not be stubborn this one time?"

A long silence passes.

I take the silence as a withdrawal, and I crawl in and wrap my arms around Katniss' waist. As soon as I do tiny sparks flow through my body, making me smile. After a while her breathing evens out and she falls asleep, and when she does, I tuck her back in with the blankets and kiss her forehead. "Sweet dreams, Kat."

And I fall asleep on her couch, still thinking of the way I felt when I held her.


	2. A Barking Pile of Fur

**a/n: **I couldn't resist. I mean, what what YOU do if you had a sudden vision of Peeta Mellark walking to see his girlfriend nestled up with his dog.

what would you do ?

_if any of you are looking for a beta-reader, check out my beta-profile and PM me if you're interested ! _

**disclaimer:** dear suer, if you were smart, you would realize that if I owned the Hunger Games, I WOULD NOT BE WRITING FAN-FICTION.

if you have a tumblr, you should follow me (remove thy spaces) :) mahnameiskiara . tumblr . com

* * *

**. A Barking of Pile of Fur . **

"SHUT _UP!_" I screamed, throwing a pillow at the barking pile of fur just by my feet. Peeta was working today, and I was waiting for his shift to end.

Another hour with a barking pile of fur was not going to end well.

Peeta's dog, Cole, was an annoying thing. An annoying, but oh so cute thing. He was a boxer, a puppy, and his big, brown eyes gazed widely at me whenever I threw a pillow at him. This seemed to win me over everytime, and it seemed to get me to forgive him; at least for the five minutes he wouldn't bark again.

After that, it was all downhill: screaming and whining, from both the dog and myself. I was trying to watch How To Train Your Dragon when Prim told me _I just had to_. I'll have to admit, it was a nice, cute movie.

However, Hiccup was a bag of bones, all legs and arms.

Cole watched me with wide eyes, suddenly quiet when he shambled away, his tiny stubby tail swaying side to side. I tried to supress a smile at that.

Despite what people say, I was not a cold-hearted person. Sure, I'm sarcastic and a little rude.

But hey, I am a woman. What do you expect me to do?

I'm still a girl, despite what people say. I still swoon over romantic scenes in movies, I still _awww_ at cute things. Cute things included Peeta's damn puppy.

Cole scrabbled at the door opening with his tiny paws, and I tried to avert my eyes back to Hiccup and Astrid having a conversation. I didn't have the heart to look away.

Sighing, I pushed myself off the couch and I padded over to the whining figure of Cole. I was wearing one of Peeta's old shirts I stole to wear, anda pair thick fuzzy socks. My hair was loose, falling in waves over my shoulders and holding a mug of hot chocolate.

I was reading earlier, catching up with the doings of Jace Wayland.

Sighing, I picked up the whining puppy and patted his head awkwardly.

"Who are you looking for? Peeta? Well, he'll be here soon I promise." I hugged the puppy to my chest and padded back to the couch, my hot chocolate abandoned on the kitchen counter.

Eh, it was cold anyways.

I sank down onto the couch and pulled the blankets over me. Cole hopped off and left me alone to watch the movie. After drifting off for a moment, I felt a light weight hop up onto the couch. Assuming it was Cole, I searched around for his furry little head. When I found it, I stroked it.

Feeling my eyes drift down, I fell asleep just in the middle of Hiccup's little dragon ride.

**. . . . .**

Shaking off my large, thick coat in the middle of the hallway, I shucked off my shoes and hanged my gloves on the coat rack.  
"Katniss!" I shouted. "I'm back!" I shouted again, walking down the hallway my _Mellark Bakery _nametag still pinned to my chest. Pulling the thing off, I stopped at the unbelievably cute scene laid out for me to see.

Katniss was snuggled in thick blankets, her sock-covered toes just peeking out. Her hand was atop Cole's head, and he snored peacefully next to Katniss.

My eyes softened, and I turned off the TV where How To Train Your Dragon's credits was playing. I knelt down next to Katniss and stroked her hair gently, for the fear of waking her from her peaceful state creeping in.

I chuckled softly at Cole and pet his head with my finger. Suddenly, with a newfound sense of urgency, I rushed into the kitchen to grab the Nikon camera that was perched on the counter.

I slung the strap around my neck and sneakily padded back into the living room. Holding the viewer up to my eye, I clicked the button.

Click.

The tell-tell sound of a camera shutter went off into the silence of the apartment, and I placed the camera back in it's regular spot. Changing into my house clothes, I sat next to Katniss and Cole, smiling softly.

I'd uploaded the picture later.

It was definetly Facebook-worthy.


	3. Confessions

a/n: this is actually based off a tumblr post that got so popular that Michelle Hodkin reblogged it. this is the raw version of it:

_Today in class, our task was to write anonymous confessions on a piece of paper, which we were then asked to crumple up and toss into a bin in the middle of the room. One by one, each person had to go to the bin and randomly choose a paper to read aloud. _

_When someone chose and read the confession that said: "the only reason I like this class is because of the cute girl I__always sit next to", the boy beside me turned and winked and said: "I guess they finally got to mine"._

it was about time I put something like this up :) yes, Cinna, and Finnick and Johanna are in this, of course along with Peety and Katniss :)

**disclaimer:** I do not won the Hunger Games nor it's characters.

* * *

It was a regular day, a good day really. I was sitting in class when Katniss, a pretty and sweet girl sat next to me. It was a regular thing, a required thing really. The seating plan was written in stone.  
"Hey," I said to her. She turned to me and smiled.  
"Hey," she replied. When she turned away to grab something out of her backpack, I grinned. I was not blind; Katniss was a beautiful girl and one who was funny and smart. I knew for a fact that she had a 3.90 grade point average.

"Alrighty class," said the teacher, Mr. Cinna in his soft, yet commanding and firm voice. "today, we are learning about_ confessions_." he announced.

He taught Psychology. An interesting and useful subject. "so, I want to ask everyone in the room to write down an anonymous confesssion on a piece of paper and toss it into this," he gestured to a large apothecary jar perched on his desk. "jar. And by _anonymous_, I mean you do not write your name, _Mr. Odair_," he pointed out, strolling next to a friend's desk.

The class chuckled, and Katniss cracked a smile.

"Oh but Mr. Cinna," Finnick started. "on the contrary, I believe not to play by the rules, I choose to play by _my own_ rules." he drawled, speaking in a voice that resembled one of the British ascent.

"A sure and firm sign of a stereotypical, rebellious and _hormonal_ teenage boy," Mr. Cinna replied, patting down Finnick's bronze scruffs. Finnick frowned, but laughed along with the class when Mr. Cinna said, "I suggest you calm your _hormones _while sitting next to your and I quote _'infatuation' _with Ms. Cresta," Mr. Cinna continued. Finnick's check grew a rosy blush and he sank further into his seat, avoiding the gaze of Annie Cresta who sat beside him; clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

A small and silly grin was plastered onto her face, much to Finnick's unknowing gaze.

He strolled back to the front and started to hand out small, purple squares of paper.  
"Write your confessions on the purple papers I am handing out and Mr. Odair," all signs of joking were drained out of Mr. Cinna's dark face. "I think I'll give you an extra paper so if you mess up on the first one, you have no need to worry."

The class shared another chorus of laughter; where the loudest of voices belonged to Johanna Mason, who sat in the row just in front of Gale Hawthorne and sitting beside Madge Undersee.  
"Oh Finnick," she laughed. "must you decline to learn, or at least grow a decent sized package?"

Louder laughs emanated from the classroom.

Even Mr. Cinna joined in, his low and drawling chuckles joining the class.

"For your information Johanna, I have a very nicely sized package..." he trailed off. "that I got for Christmas that contained an electric guitar and wad of cash!" he exclaimed cheerily, as if he was unknowing of the real meaning of what Johanna was insinuating.

I laughed harder.

Katniss on the other hand, was frowning.  
"I don't get it," she said, the laughter dying down. "what does Johanna mean by _package_?" she asked.

Even more laughter was to be heard through the hallway. Snickers and amused laughs were growing louder and louder by the second, and didn't have a hint at stopping.  
"Oh Katniss!" someone shouted, the voice sounding to belong to Cato Heath. "You're so pure!" Katniss frowned, clearly unamused by what Cato said.

Her eyes narrowed in his direction in what was a very scary death glare and the laughter ceased. Silence seemed to pass by in heartbeats until Katniss broke the silence.  
"Well," she said, her voice projecting loud and clear across the room. "what won't be so pure after another second of speaking is your pretty boy face when my fist lands in it."

Needless to say, Cato didn't say a word after that.

I glanced at Katniss, and the look on her face was indescribable. Her icy gray eyes blazed, and her think pinky lips were in a straight line.

If looks could kill, Katniss Everdeen would be the most powerful weapon of mass destruction.

After that, class went on as usual and I wrote down my confession on the sqaure purple paper. To my dismay, I forgot to turn it over so Mr. Cinna couldn't read it ahead of time.  
But he strolled up to my desk and took a glance.

A glance was all it took for his normally soft demeanor to change drastically into a full-blown smirk.

My cheeks blushed a rosy red.

"Hand them in please!" Mr. Cinna announced, walking backwards and still looking at me. I folded up my paper and dropped into the apothecary jar.

"Now," Mr. Cinna said when all the papers were in. "I need one volunteer please,"

Katniss' hand shot straight into the air.

"Ms. Everdeen," Mr. Cinna nodded.

Katniss was definetly one of Mr. Cinna's favourites, but don't misinterpret me. Katniss was _not_ a teacher's pet. A teacher's pet was Delly Cartwright, a sweet yet annoying yellow-haired and plump girl who you couldn't help but like.

Katniss dipped her hand into the large jar and fished around for one until her hand grasped on one. She opened the little paper up and read it aloud.

"I think that Mr. Cinna should wear his purple vest more often." she said, her eyebrows quirking at the strange confession. Mr. Cinna's expression mirrored hers and Katniss was sent back to her seat beside me.

Class went on, uneventful until one particular one caught my eye.  
It was the last one, and Mr. Cinna pulled it out.

"The only reason I like this class is because of the cute girl I always sit next to," he said. I took a deep breath, listening to the girls swoon and look over to Finnick, who they were sure wrote that confession. He shrugged.  
"Don't look at me," he said.

I took a deep breath, heart beating fast. I turned my head to Katniss and tapped her shoulder.

A loud gasp went through the classroom.

I winked, and smiled and said: "I guess they finally got to mine."


	4. Take It, It's Yours

**a/n:** short little drabble I thought up. part two next chapter ?

**disclaimer:** I am in no way affiliated with Suzanne Collins or the Hunger Games.

**I wish I had a chivalrous Peety to take compliment me when I cried. **

* * *

It was stormy that day, and it didn't look very promising. I was sitting in my car waiting for Rye to come and open the damn door. I had to admit, the wait was very anti-climatic. Until I saw it.

There was a girl, maybe my age, running barefoot in the rain with bruises on her arms and wrists. I couldn't tell if she was crying, the rain blurred her face. She was clad in pajamas, sleep shorts and a shirt and her chestnut brown hair was flowing and being drenched by the rain.

She came closer to my car and she raced past me, her hair a brown blur. I could hear her heart-broken sobs from inside the warmth inside my car. I whipped around in my seat to watch her run off.

I wondered what she was crying about.  
I wondered why she had bruises on her arms and wrists.  
I wondered why she was in her pajamas.

I just wondered about her.

I watched her and she stumbled over and collapsed onto the pavement.

I found myself jumping out into the rain carrying an extra coat running towards the strange girl. Rain-drops were pounding onto my face and hair, but at the moment, I didn't care.

All I felt was the light of this nameless girl already threatening to consuming with promises of sparks and flames.

She was sobbing horrible sobs when I got to her. They were filled with irrevocable pain that it pained me to hear any of the sounds that escaped her mouth.  
"Hey'" I whispered to her, trying to get a look at her face. When she looked up at me, my breath hitched.

The first thing I noticed were her eyes; so gray and shining with unshed tears.

The next thing I noticed was the brokenness that were held in the eyes.

"Are you okay?" I asked quietly. It was no use. She wasn't okay. She shook her head pitifully, more tears streaming from her gray eyes.  
"What happened?" I asked quietly, draping my coat over her bare shoulders.

"You don't want to associate yourself with trash like me." her voice was quiet, light and melodic, although sounding as if a war was lost inside her mind.

It didn't really sink in until a heart-beat later.

She called herself trash.

This beautiful, broken girl called herself trash.

"I don't think you're trash," I whispered.  
"That's because you don't know me." she replied. I sat back on my haunches and took one long look at her. Her button nose was red, eyes red from crying and hair drenched from the rain.

She was not pretty.

She was not beautiful.

She was as radiant as the sun.

"I don't care if I don't know you," I mumbled. "you're not trash. Nobody is." I said. Her wary and eyes locked with mine.  
"No-one has ever called me anything else." she said. Her words broke my heart, and I felt the pieces shatter into her cold and dark hand.

It was at that one moment when I knew that I was no longer myself. I was hers, completely and fully. She held my heart in her broken little hand and it had been a three minute conversation.

But I didn't mind. She could take my heart, as long as she took care of it.

"I think you're beautiful." I whispered, pulling her into my arms just to see how she fit.

Her body melted and collapsed into mine; she fit perfectly.

"Do you really?" she whispered, her arms clutching my torso tightly, as if she were to let go I would disappear.

I held her tighter than she did.

"Actually, I take that back." I whispered. I felt her shoulders slump and a tear drop onto my shirt.

"I think you're as radiant as the sun."

A short moment of silence passed between where we just held each other.

"I'm wearing your coat," she finally mumbled. I shrugged and disentangled our arms.

"Take it, it's yours."

She wasn't aware that I was talking about something other the stupid coat.


	5. The Coldest Hour

**a/n:** just a little drabble, may add a part two explaining more, but for now, this is it :)

**disclaimer:** I do not own or affiliate myself with the Hunger Games/Suzanne Collins.

* * *

The shot rings out, the bullet pierces the young girl's chest, sixteen and aged with the terrors of a war that raged outside of her door. The war is over when she collapses in death. The war is over when snow blankets her form, when the blonde-haired soldier stumbles over to her and cries into her neck.

The war is over when her pitifully broken heart stops beating.

The clouds release their peaceful snow, and tiny white flakes drape her body, as if blanketing her body from any further harm. The snow preserves her spirit, the memories inside her mind, the feelings inside her chest.

The tiny baby that could have been conceived if she had gone on a few years more.

The snow gives her warmth, in her coldest hour.

The blood of angry men keeps boiling, but in a new kind of rage. The kind that could kill more than guns or cannons. The kind that kills you on the inside, the kind of anger that spews over their edges when an innocent meets their death.

The kind of anger that is released, when the innocent of most innocent dies in the snow.

And his heart lives on, regretfully. He stares at empty chairs at empty tables, wondering who would have sat where, who would have kissed who. He doesn't move for a week, because she doesn't move at all. He stares at her picture, her pretty face smiling back at him, preserved in a frame. The soldier's father watches as his last son spills over in regret.

The soldier has so many wishes. He wished the war had never gone on, and that the war hadn't taken so many to win. But his biggest wish is her.

He wishes he hadn't looked over his shoulder to take another glance at the pretty, gray-eyed girl; because when his eyes locked with hers, he was consumed by her, he was consumed with sparks and flames. His heart no longer belonged in his chest, but rather in her little hand who could squeeze and tug at his heart-strings for all his living days. His heart was still gone, still being held between her dead fingers.

But he wouldn't have it any other way.

She was safe, the war was over, he could finally rest. So when his last family, his father, dies in a fever from heat, he leaves shortly afterwards, the snow blanketing his body from any further harm. He leaves and joins her, in Panem's coldest hour.


End file.
